


Devious

by Cards_Slash



Series: Arabian Stallions [9]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Just Sex, M/M, Sex, all sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2439347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which orgasms are denied and then had</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devious

It started with the shift of Altair’s body unfolding from where he’d been reading (for hours, as far as Malik could tell). The first brush of Altair’s arm against his might have been an accident—the couch was only so large, after all, but the gentle nuzzle of his lips against Malik’s jaw had been very much on purpose. 

“I’m watching this,” Malik had said.

Altair hadn’t protested exactly but rolled up against his body with one hand slipping into the spaces between the buttons of Malik’s shirt. His fingers ruffled up the undershirt as he kissed Malik’s neck. “I’ll stay out of the way then.” There was a pause there, as Altair’s sneaky fingers went still with half the buttons undone and his face hovered just close enough to Malik that the ghost of his breath was a warm tickle against his pulse. 

Malik shifted how he was sitting to give Altair more room. “But if you wanted to you could wait like thirty minutes and this will be over.”

“I finished my book,” Altair mumbled back. His hair was tickling Malik’s chin as his lips pressed sweet-little-kisses into the spaces where the shirt buttons had been undone. His wet tongue was pressed flat against Malik’s nipple with the shirt between them. And his teeth scraped across the hardened little nub before he kissed his way to the other side and repeated the procedure. 

Malik turned the volume up on the TV as Altair sucked pink marks into his skin. Down and down until his shirt was completely open and his skin was a series of wet-heated-marks. By habit, his hand was resting against the slope of Altair’s shoulder as he watched the tail-end of a documentary about the many animals that were likely to kill you. (The most dangerous animals in the world! If the narrator could be trusted.) 

Altair’s hand rubbed at his thigh, slipped down to grip at the tender inside where the loose grip of his day-off-lazy flannel pants bunched up. Then Altair was kissing his neck again, careful to twist his body to keep out of the line of sight. But the noise smack of his wet lips was harder to ignore than the momentary glimpses of his hair. And his hand was slipping up, smooth-palm cupping around Malik’s half-interested dick. The little noise of surprise Altair made was something like a mouse squeak. 

“I’m watching something,” Malik reminded him. Then he knocked his shoulder into Altair’s head to push him away from his ear because he couldn’t hear anything but the insistent suction of the man’s mouth on his skin. 

“I’ve seen the end of this one,” Altair mumbled back at him. He kneaded his hand gently around Malik’s disinterested dick and then moved to pull his shirt up. He slid off the couch with the thud-thud of his knees on the hard floor and dragged one of the (new) pillows off the couch with him. “Not that good. Spiders kill people. Snakes are bad. Hippos eat humans.” His thumbs were pushing Malik’s shirt up-and-up to bare his skin. Altair’s eager tongue was following along, tracing the darkening lines where the hair had started to grow back in on his belly and chest. 

The width of his body between Malik’s legs made his knees sprawl open in a way that was only momentarily distracting. Malik turned the volume on the TV up again as Altair nipped at his skin in precisely the same way he did every time he wanted something he wasn’t getting. “Stop it,” Malik said and shoved Altair’s face away from his chest without looking at him.

There was a momentary reprieve in the assault while Altair sat back on his knees and contemplated his next move. This-much-later, Malik had learned (the way people tended to learn about one another after months and months of repeated trials) that there was almost no way to get Altair to give up on something he wanted. But he’d also learned the results of creating a challenge where one was not normally present were spectacular. 

Altair wanted to suck him off (and any given day that was a wonderfully welcome notion) and Malik only needed to deny him long enough to get the optimal results. 

When Altair came back it was a slow-slither of palms from his knees to the muggy joint of body-and-thigh. His thumbs were broad and insistent slipping down and up against, brushing now-and-again against his balls in a way that bought a shiver in his spine that even he could not deny. Then Altair was sucking at his skin through the rubbed-thin flannel of his pants, leaving wet-hot-marks on the insides of his thighs. The fabric muffled the wet pops of his mouth pulling off but his teeth raking over damp flesh provided the dramatic flair the reduced noise deprived him of.

Malik resolutely stared at the TV. 

Creeping hands tip-toed up his wrinkled belly and his slouching chest in a way that was not remotely seductive. Altair’s hands curled around his shoulders and _pulled_ down as they _pushed_ back and Malik’s body slipped on the couch so his hips were balanced just at the edge and his chin was against his chest with the ruffled excess of his shirt almost choking him. He bothered to sit up enough to pull the shirts off and throw them to the side before dragging one of the (new) pillows over to put behind his back. He stretched out one of his legs to hook the leg of the coffee table with his foot and drag it close enough to put his heel against on one side. 

As-a-reward (or a gesture of disgruntled disapproval), Altair closed his teeth around his left nipple and pulled it to the point of hurting and released it. His wet mouth was soft-and-warm, pressing sweet-apologetic-tongue-kisses over the offended area. But it was his hand, so casually resting against the hardening length of Malik’s dick, squeeze-and-releasing that nagged an undeniable arch to Malik’s back. His hips pressed up against the motion and the slash of Altair’s smile against the rounded rise of his ribs was _pleased_ and _victorious_.

A commercial break interrupted a dramatic moment about (a spider or something) and Malik looked down at Altair. His arms were hanging over Malik’s spread thighs and his bony chin was pressed against Malik’s hipbone. The waistband of his pants had been inched down-and-down until it the wrinkled elastic was stretched across the now aggressively sensitive head of his dick. And Altair’s fingers were oh-so-casually running up and down the obvious bulge poorly hidden beneath the flannel. 

“Are you feeling especially proud of yourself?” Malik asked. He ran his fingers through the short-short hair on Altair’s head (thought again how he hated this haircut) and then down to his shoulder beneath the stretched-tight T-shirt he wore. 

“Not particularly,” Altair said back. He put his palms against the couch to lift himself up enough to kiss Malik. It wasn’t a sweet-lover’s thing but those hungry-demanding kisses that always-always preceded the kind of sex that left bruises. Malik held onto Altair with two hands and one leg around his back that gave him the leverage to rock his hips up against the tight-hard planes of his body. The soft-grind of flannel trapped between them was all at once aggravating and decisively pleasurable. 

The show returned with a dramatic crescendo of sound and Malik shoved Altair back down on his knees and licked-his-own-lips to chase away the pressure of the suddenly stopped kiss. Altair nipped at his belly until Malik shoved his head away.

“No marks.”

Then his hands were pulling Malik’s pants out of the way and hand-over-hand stroking his dick with smooth-dry-palms. It was a lazy-slow _constant_ motion, alternatively light and heavy as the bastard stared with half-closed eyes and a pink-red-mouth hanging open in anticipation. 

It would have been better if it were wetter and that was the thought that Malik kept repeating to himself as the TV behind Altair’s head blinked in and out of focus and the sound of the narrator’s voice became a hazy kind of distraction. It was hardly audible over the dry drag of skin-on-skin and the heavy-pleased-sound of Altair’s voice. 

The sudden forward jolt of his body was what broke Malik’s resolve to stare at the TV because the bastard moved like he was magnetized—mouth open and tongue out to catch the precious little damp spot of precum caught just at the reddened tip of Malik’s dick. His eyes fluttered closed as his mouth closed over the tip of Malik’s dick and his tongue ran across the slit. The full body shudder that ran through Malik was damning-as-anything but there was no power on earth that could have stopped him from doing it. Altair couldn’t grin with his mouth full of dick but his voice hummed in approval and victory even as he rose up higher on his knees so he could start bobbing his head. 

Spit rolled out of his mouth, slick and slippery down to where his fist was still gripping Malik’s dick in a lazy-up-down motion off-beat to the rise and fall of his sweet-sucking-mouth. The added lubrication of spit made the sensation that much-more-intense and Malik tipped his head back against the cushion and clenched his teeth to keep from making a damn noise. Altair looked up at him, eyebrows scrunched in offended curiosity. Malik’s skin was hot-as-fire and he was looking right-at-Altair (not the TV) and the combination of the two earned him a lewd wink before Altair pulled off his dick with a resounding wet pop. 

There again, two fists one-over-the-other stroking up-and-up in an undulating, never ending wave of sensation. Malik’s hands were scratching at the stretched-tight-couch cushions to get some purchase against the oncoming orgasm as Altair’s red-wet-mouth lazily bumped against his balls. 

“Fuck,” Malik gasped when he couldn’t contain it a second longer. Everything in his body was tightening into one single sensation of _need-want-oh-God-have-to-just-like-fuck-I-need-right-there—_

And Altair’s mouth closed around the tip of his dick and sucked and that should-have-been-it (good bye cruel world) save for the sudden painfully tight grip at the base of his dick and the malicious glint of perfectly pleased vengeance in Altair’s eyes. He pulled back again with his tongue licking up the smear of spit around his mouth as he surveyed his work. That tight coil of denied orgasm made Malik’s body quake for a split second, a confusion of sensation and feeling as the intensity faded by halting degrees. 

The smug bastard sat back on his knees again.

“Problem?” Altair said (oh-so-sweetly). 

“What’s,” Malik took in a breath to calm the uncertain tone in his voice. “What’s the endgame here?”

Altair pressed his dick down against his belly, idly ran his hand up and down the underside of it, stopping short of the tip while he pretended to consider the question. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” Malik said.

“I don’t have a clue,” he said. Fucking angelic look on his ridiculous pink-spotted face and all. “Why? What are you planning to do?”

“Fuck you,” Malik said.

“Hot,” Altair said. “Do you feel how hard you are right now? I could climb on this and waste the rest of the day. Can you imagine how good that would feel? Probably not—it’s not your thing.” There was always a regretful little noise in the back of his throat when he said that. The idle stroking of his hand grew more intent as Malik started rocking up against his tacky-drying-palm. It was Malik reaching down to pull Altair forward and his two legs hooking around Altair that pulled them together again. Altair kissed him in a confusion of sweet-adoration and ruthless-arousal. 

Malik fucked up against Altair’s body—the skin-hot-soft-stretch of his T-shirt and the tantalizing few brushes of bare skin here-and-there as they kissed with sloppy enthusiasm. The recently-denied orgasm was rushing back into focus as he tightened his knees around Altair and ground up against him until the fabric of his shirt was damp from how desperately close Malik was to coming. 

“Cheater,” Altair said when the rhythm faltered and Malik was so close the need to come was a metal taste in his mouth. He pulled back and grabbed both of Malik’s hands before he could finish himself and the last few abortive thrusts of his hips looked ridiculous and felt painfully unfulfilling in the sudden chill of air where Altair’s body had been only seconds before. 

“Fuck,” Malik said again. The muscles on the insides of his thighs were jumping and the shiver that ran through his whole body left him feeling maddeningly desperate in a way that was unsettling and rare. 

Altair grabbed him by the thighs and pulled his hips completely off the couch, so the small of his back was pressed just at the blunted edge. His pants were efficiently stripped off and put to the side. Then Altair pushed Malik’s knees up toward his shoulders and said, “hold here,” until Malik grabbed his own legs to hold them open-and-out-of-the-way. 

“Now you decide to get toppy,” Malik mumbled. 

“You’re so bitchy when you don’t get to come,” Altair retorted. He kissed the underside of one of his thighs as he dug around under the couch for wherever they dropped-and-abandoned the lube the last time. The plastic crack of the lid opening was an almost physical sensation just seconds before Altair’s cool-warm-breath blew a steady-teasing-stream across his hole. His tongue followed after, a steady slick pressure: there and gone again. “Nobody is as toppy as you,” he said as a follow up. Then his slippery-long-finger was rubbing across his hole before pressing in, easily pushing inside of him with one long-gesture. “I like that about you.”

“God,” Malik said. His lungs felt crushed inside of his chest and his dick was helpfully leaking wet-and-hopeful against his belly. “Could have fooled me.”

“Open this,” Altair said. He handed him a condom so Malik had to hold his legs up and open the stupid package and try not to grab the bastard by the back of the head and fuck his stupid smiling face. Altair took advantage of the distraction to slip a second finger in and was pumping them slow-and-steady in-and-out. “Thank you,” Altair said when he took the condom back from him. 

“Fuck,” Malik said again. His fingers were digging into his own legs and there was a persistent shiver to his body as the bastard rubbed his blunt fingertips against Malik’s prostate and rested his cheek against his thigh. He was watching-just-watching how Malik’s body opened around his (three-now) fingers and how they slid in so very smoothly. “Altair,” Malik said, “fuck me, come on—Altair.” Because he was trying to trust his hips up to drag his dick across anything but the coolness of the air and he was trying to get Altair inside of him deeper and he was trying to bit his own tongue in half and there was only so-much-he-could-take. 

“Just a minute,” Altair said back. He twisted his fingers and Malik’s grip on his sweating legs slipped as his whole body tightened up. There was a painful-and-blissful moment of nearness just before Altair pulled completely away from him save for the malicious grip on his dick that kept him from coming (again). 

“Fuck!” Malik shouted at him. He pushed his elbows against the couch and rocked forward, landed on his spread knees around Altair who smirked at him even as he fell loosely-and-easily backward. His pants—something stretchy and cotton—were already halfway down his thighs by the time Malik had enough brain cells to catch up to the plot. The condom he opened was pressed into his hand and it was one-second-two-second-three-second before it was on his dick and he was rolling Altair over onto his stupid smiling face with one hand pinning his chest flat to the floor and the other dragging his hips up. The lube was open and ready and Malik had enough thought left to use it. 

The groan that rattled out of Altair’s throat was divine and the clench of his body tightening around Malik’s dick was the single best thing he had ever felt in his entire life. He leaned the whole of his weight into it, as if by sheer force of will he could get any deeper into Altair. His hands were slippery against the floor and his forehead was a wet spot against Altair’s back as he panted loud-and-fast into the space between his shoulder blades. Just long enough to keep from coming, just long enough to find some sense of control and then he was fucking into Altair with mindless-abandon, again-and-again slamming into his body in the mad scramble to reach that peak that had been denied him. 

And Altair was singing a chorus of praises with bitten off gasps and groans and moans and his hands spread out across the dark-wood-floor, nails scratching at the finish and mouth gaping open. His eager pushes back against Malik counterpoint to the vibrating painful smack of their bodies coming together. 

Oh-and-when-he-came it was _perfect_ , every nerve ending in his body on fire and every logical thought silenced, nothing at all in the world but the sensation of coming completely undone. 

Then there was Altair, on his hands and knees fucking back against him with a mumble of half-realized words and the desperation of a man that-close-to-coming. Malik ran his hands down his back and slid one around to give him a hand but Altair grabbed his wrist. “Just fuck me,” he said. His voice was wavy-and-out of focus, uncertain and unnecessary loud. Malik pulled his legs farther apart and tilted his hips and fucked him until his thighs were shaking. “Hold my hands,” Altair said.

It was a dirty thrill when Malik grabbed his hands and wove their fingers together. The floor was hard and unforgiving under their knuckles with the full of their weight bearing down on them. Altair’s hair was soaked with sweat and his body was ragged with confused need. There was a milky-white puddle on the floor under him as his dick slapped up against his belly with every thrust and splattered thin drops of pre-come. “You’re so fucking hot,” Malik said against the pink shell of his ear. “I haven’t fucked anyone I wanted as much as I want you. You’re so fucking perfect right now, spread out under me like this, begging for my dick and shaking because it feels-so-good. I’ve never fuck anyone that loves this as much as you do. Do it,” he said. “Come right now, full of my dick without anything on yours. Do it now.”

And Altair’s shout was loud-and-raw as his body caved forward and he came hard enough the clench of his body around Malik’s (overly sensitive dick) was a shock of pain that bordered on pleasure. 

“Oh fuck,” Altair said in the next moment, lying flat on the ground like a soupy puddle of human parts, “that was awesome.”

Malik was lying on his back next to him, exhausted and sore. “You’re going to kill me,” he said even before his breath had evened out.

Altair turned his head so he was looking at him. “Now that I know it’s possible I expect you to make me come without being touched on a regular basis.” His smile was devious.

“Sure,” Malik said, “on a bed next time though.”


End file.
